


hypnosis

by goldlyboing



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Related, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Gratuitous Use of Em Dash, Hand & Finger Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Spock (Star Trek), Pining!Spock, Spock & Jim & Bones All Share One Brain Cell, T'hy'la, Unfortunately Bones Has It For Most Of This Fic, Vulcan Bond, Vulcan Mind Melds, What Really Happened on Altair IV, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-16 06:55:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldlyboing/pseuds/goldlyboing
Summary: In the throes of combat during Spock's blood fever, a spontaneous t'hy'la bond is created between him and his Captain. Despite this, Jim continues to rectify mental shields between them.Rejection, Spock thinks, is a painful emotion.(Jim is undoubtedly Spock's t'hy'la and the love of his life, but both of them are wounded idiots and it takes them awhile to tell each other their feelings.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be posting this in a one-chapter format as i write it. it doesn't make sense, but oh well. artistic liberty. i like the neatness of one-chapter works.

T’Pring calls upon her right to claim _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ , and in a moment of hazy weakness, Spock wishes— _illogically_ —that he could muster surprise.

Even as the heat of the _plak tow_ simmers beneath the surface of his skin, clawing at the periphery of his mind and demanding that he withdraw control to his subconscious, he can feel the delicacy of the tenuous betrothal bond from their _Kan-Telan—_ their childhood _koon-ut-la_. It was weak then as children, and in adulthood it is now little more than a piece of floss stretched across the chasm of two incompatible minds. Spock did not anticipate T’Pring’s challenge upon his arrival to Vulcan, and a part of him—the deepest, most primal part of him—seethes with rage and injustice. The crimson sands of the desert reflect the rays of the evening sun, bathing the land in an oppressive, smothering heat. Dr. McCoy and Jim Kirk, his friends, loyal and human as they are, seek refuge from the brutal sunlight and cling to the rock outcrops that line the ceremonial arena. Even from his place on the dias facing the elder T’Pau, Spock can see the reflection of sweat that smatters his Captain’s brow. Spock burns for other reasons. The blood fever is almost upon him.

An arrow of heat strikes him through the abdomen, and Spock tenses and trembles against the pain. Arousal prickles like needles at the base of his skull, the tips of his ears, his hands, his chest. His control slips just enough for him to almost miss it—the moment T’Pring chooses his Captain as her champion.

Several things happen at once.

Spock hears Dr. McCoy, the drawl of his voice clear and outraged as he demands for T’Pau to refuse the Captain’s involvement. _His_ Captain—Jim, his superior officer, his Captain, his friend, _Jim_ —balks and physically steps back, away from T’Pring’s declaring finger. Stonn, who until that point had remained dutifully silent at T’Pring’s side, makes to protest, but T’Pring snaps for him to be quiet. And Spock, fighting every moment for mental control as the threat of _pon farr_ continues to beat through his veins, stumbles forward, falling to his knees ungracefully at T’Pau’s feet.

“Please,” he begs, “he is human. If you allow him to accept championship, he will—” Spock breaks off suddenly as another wave of _heat_ and _pain_ and _lust_ washes over his body. Spock grits his teeth and grips hard to the last vestiges of control over his own mind. Desperation gnaws at his throat, forcing the words out. “—He will surely die.”

T’Pau assesses him through dark, unsympathetic eyes. The lines of age at the corners of her mouth are severe, and they deepen only slightly when she frowns at Spock. She betrays nothing of her thoughts, her face remains a cool Vulcan mask of indifference. Spock calls out to her mind, projecting his overwhelming fear for Jim's safety. _I will kill him_ , he thinks, as loud and as hard as he can. _Please, forbid this. Don't allow me to hurt him._  T'Pau's gaze never wavers. When she speaks, it is in accented Standard, and she addresses the small entourage.

“T’Pring is within her rights. Kirk—” his name sounds like _kerhk_ on her Vulcan tongue, “will you accept?”

Jim jerks his head up at the sound of his name. Dr. McCoy whispers to him, his face a rather alarming shade of red, but Jim hushes him with a soft “Bones.” He gathers himself, drawing up to full height and lifting his chin in deliberation to the elder T’Pau. His face is blotchy, high point of pink on the apples of his cheeks, a bead of sweat running down the bridge of his nose. His mouth sets in a line that Spock knows well—one of determination, of _grit_ —and his gaze is genuine and imploring when he answers.

“I do,” he says, and those hazel eyes flick down to where Spock’s hands are white-knuckling the hem of T’Pau’s robes. “I accept.”

Spock consciousness is ripped from him as his willpower buckles and he succumbs to _plak tow,_ helpless against the fever in his blood.

* * *

His home planet seldom rained.

When Spock chose admittance into Starfleet, his mother accompanied him to Terra. She had insisted, claiming that she missed the blue planet, and that she wished to visit her friends and family that still lived there. Spock suspected that her willingness to travel was in part inspired by the epic row she currently had with her husband. Sarek had still not answered Spock’s attempts at conversation. Spock had still refused to accept admission to the Vulcan Science Academy and cancel his registration at Starfleet. 

Spock also knew that, logically, his mother would in the end come to terms with Sarek’s disappointment in his son. She was the wife of a Vulcan, and they were a bonded pair. Harmony of minds was essential to the mental health of such couples. For now, however, his mother seemed content to lead him by the arm through the bustling San Francisco streets and sidewalks.

She took him to see the ocean.

At the risk of submitting to human romanticism, Spock found himself... _fascinated._  Never in his life had he been in the presence of such a vast body of water. The sand beneath his bare feet was too coarse to resemble the dunes of the Vulcan desert, and the baywind bit harshly at his skin, cold and salty. His mother stood at his elbow, her sandals dangling limply in the grip of her hand, smiling wanely at the sight before them. Without speaking, she started forwards, walking towards waves that swelled against the shoreline. The tide receded, beckoning her. She followed for several feet, before her legs up to the calf were swallowed by another surge of seafoam. Her laughter sounded as though it had been punched out of her, and it rang loud and true over the _crash swish shh swish_ of the ocean current.

Spock followed mutely.

The water rose to greet him, coveting his legs in an embrace before once again rushing back to the sea. The water was frigid, but the ocean was magnetic. The crest of the whitecap was not gentle, and for a moment Spock marveled at the power of the deep, the waves, the foam. His mother turned to him, smile wide and eyes just shy of manic. He gazed forward, towards the calm horizon, contrasted by the tireless movement of the shoreline. He felt hypnotized. 

He thought of Vulcan, of the desert, the _water beneath the earth_. He thought of emotions that ran like currents, rather than canyons. He thought of being submerged, he thought of baptism. 

He was not at peace. The power of the water that thrummed around him was violent, and yet he was unhurt. He felt—not calm, not content, not happy—he felt only— _awareness_. 

The _plak tow_ pounds through Spock's bloodstream like the riptides of the Terran ocean. He feels the same floating disassociation, the same detached awareness. He is defenseless against the sea of yearning, longi _ng, heat lust hurt pain_ —yet he is feels unreached by its urgency. Spock drifts. His mind is coated in a thick, syrupy light, offering cold relief from the dangerous warmth simmering under his skin. There is a moment where the river of light solidifies, gives itself form. It feels like _presence_. It blankets him, affectionate. It feels like consolation, like comfort, like friendship. _Jim_ , his friend. His Captain. 

The first swing of the _lirpa_ catches Kirk in the chest, shredding a horizontal line in his shirt and the scent of blood permeates the air. It is iron-based, not Vulcan copper, and smears bright red lines down the planes of Kirk's torso. Spock circles Kirk like a predator, the fever in his veins demanding that he _kill, maim, injure,_ satisfy the lust for violence. It is a primitive instinct, that of the hunt. It thrills when Spock manages to disarm Kirk of his _lirpa._ Kirk eyes him warily, and when they spar he aims to incapacitate, to subdue rather than to hurt. His blows do little to slow the hunter in Spock. Spock lunges, flinging the _ahn-woon_ expertly as it wraps around Kirk's calves, knocking him off his feet. 

Kirk is on his back and Spock is on top of him immediately. 

Spock's body writhes against Kirk's, pinning him down against the desert sand. Kirk's blunt nails scrape for purchase against Spock's forearm, which bars his neck and pushes down relentlessly, threatening to close off his airway. The sun beats down from above, and Spock _burns_. His entire being is on fire, lit from within and raining cinder from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Spock is blind with the heat of the _plak tow_ , stripped down to the animal within, needy and feral and _pained_. He can feel the edges of Kirk's mind from the thoughts that bleed through his skin. _Fear, desperation, warmth_ are broadcasted and shared between the telepathic connection of their minds, and Kirk's thoughts taste like honey, golden and heady. The connection between them swells, stretching and then snapping tight like a rubber band. 

Kirk thrashes and chokes out, "Spock—"

There is a bond among his people, an ancient and primal connection between warriors that dates back to Pre-Reformation Vulcan. It is traditionally borne out of combat, a telepathic binding between soldiers. It is a sacred thing, revered among Vulcans as one of the only documented soulbonds occurring spontaneously. 

It happens suddenly. Spock feels as though he has breached the surface of some great ocean. He is momentarily disoriented, finding himself in _control_ of his body, which still thrums with the drumbeats of _plak tow_. The blood fever dissipates and Spock regains conscious command over himself at the exact moment that he is sure of two things. His arms shake with the phantom memory of his hands around Jim's throat. The _ahn-woon_ in his grip is still wrapped around Jim's neck, whose body is limp and eyes are closed. Spock crouches over his Captain, unable to move. 

_One: He has harmed he has killed his Captain his friend Jim who is injured who is dead—_

_Two: An unmistakable link stretches between them. Spock's Captain—James T. Kirk—is his t'hy'la._

"Let him go, Spock." Dr. McCoy says, 4.4 meters to Spock's left. 

Spock stares at the prone body of his _t'hy'la_ —his _mate_ —and eases him down gently, supporting the back of his head, burying his unworthy fingers in sweat-damp hair. Dr. McCoy creeps into Spock's peripheral vision, his body language tense and cautious, as though he expects Spock to lunge for him next. He crouches next to the Captain's body, already beginning a series of scans with his medical tricorder which trills and beeps and whistles. McCoy pauses. Turns off his tricorder. Looks up at Spock with pity in his blue eyes. 

"He's dead." Dr. McCoy tells T'Pau, who lowers her eyes and bows her head in differential respect. 

 _O Captain, my Captain!_ Spock's mind echoes with the cry of a wounded _katra_ , the sky crumbling and splintering and pressing and  _choking_ the air from his lungs and the Vulcan sand is stained with blood his hands are stained with blood the _Captain's_ **—** the dunes run red under the scorch of dusk and Spock's eyes _burn_ —Spock can't _breathe_ from the weight of the sky-

Grief courses through Spock, an ugly emotion compounded by the regret he feels for the fatal consequences of his bloodthirsty actions. Jim's shirt is a shredded mess, the gold fabric stained with streaks of blood and sand. His regulation Starfleet issued pants and boots are coated in dust, and there is a tear just above the hemline of his kick-flairs where the thick rope of the _ahn-woon_ wrapped around his legs. His hair is wet; a few unruly strands curl delicately on his forehead. His eyes are closed.

When asked, T'Pring's logic is flawless. It is illogical to hate her for the success of her premeditated plan, as it was executed unimpaired and synthesized the desired result. Spock nods to himself when she has finished her explanation. 

"I release you," he says simply, unable to feel animosity towards T'Pring as he watches her join Stonn's fingers in the _ozh'esta_. He turns away, dizzy and sick from the emotional pain of Jim's death— _murder_ , at _his own hands_ —but T'Pring catches his eye before he can take more than a few steps back towards Dr. McCoy. 

"I grieve with thee." She says.

Spock can do nothing but nod. 

McCoy stands, and Spock steps back, away from his Captain's corpse. An aching sadness fills him, and the newly formed _t'hy'la_ bond in his mind withers. The bond hangs between them, sickly and rotten. It's _contaminated_ , unable to withstand the strain that the death of one half the _t'hy'la_ pair. Spock's head pounds, heavy with physical exhaustion and heartache. His _katra_ , his heart, his mind _yearns_ for his _t'hy'la_ , urging him to fulfill the spontaneous birth of their fledgling bond. Spock finds himself illogically longing— _wishing_ , a human tendency—to undo what is done, unable to cope with the immediate consequences of his actions during the _plak tow_. Logic must prevail because Vulcan emotion runs deep, cuts chasms into the heart and robs of rationality. He mourns the death of his Captain, his friend, his _t'hy'la_ , because logic has no answer. He mindlessly approaches T'Pau, the elder watching him with ever-assessing black eyes. Outwardly, Spock allows very little emotion to show; he is Vulcan, after all. 

T'Pau regards him silently for a moment, then lifts her hand in the _ta'al_. 

" _Dif-tor heh smusma, Spockh_." T'Pau inclines her head. _Live long and prosper_.

Spock's hands remain stiffly by his side, and a painful lurch from his side inspires his words. In a moment of weakness and emotionalism, he responds.

"I shall do neither, T'Pau. I have killed my Captain," Spock says, "and my friend."

* * *

Spock admired Kirk for many reasons. As a Captain, he was a strategic genius. His unique human ability to retain his wits in the face of certain failure had on more than one occasion saved the lives of the _Enterprise_ crew. Romulan battleships, enemy adversaries, even Klingon warbirds had all fallen victim to Kirk's ingenuity. His refusal to accept defeat had at first frustrated Spock as stubbornness, but it soon became clear that Kirk's attitude allowed him to seek out life-saving, albeit unconventional, alternatives.

As a friend, Spock considered Jim unfailingly loyal. From the beginning of his assignment aboard the _Enterprise_ , he had made diligent effort to befriend Spock, despite the cultural mores of his Vulcan heritage. He valued Spock as an officer for his experience, and often made a point to encourage Spock's conference on important mission-specific decisions. Over an invited chess match in the rec area of Starbase Epsilon-1, Jim had checkmated Spock in 49 moves. At first impression, Spock had underestimated his Captain, a mistake that from that point forward he did not repeat. 

As First Officer and the _Enterprise_ 's second in command, Spock could confirm that at the least her Captain was calculated, courageous to the point of foolhardiness, and more than qualified to hold command position. At most, Spock thought of Jim as saccharine friendly, extremely intelligent, and attractive in a soft way that never failed to cause affection to bloom in Spock's chest. 

Beaming back onboard the Enterprise, Spock heads straight for the Sick Bay.

When he gets there, he finds McCoy bent slightly at the waist over his desk, speaking in hushed tones with Nurse Chapel, who holds a slim data PADD in her hands. She sees him before McCoy does, falling silent and pursing her lips. Spock has no want of her sympathy. Her _pity._ Dr. McCoy sights him and straightens, bouncing on the heels of his feet and crossing his forearms over the chest of his science-blue medical uniform. 

"And just _what_ do you think you're doing here?" McCoy growls, narrowing his steel blue eyes. 

"I have transferred command of the _Enterprise_ to Commander Scott," Spock replies coolly, "we are on course for the nearest Starbase."

He has betrayed his Captain, a court-martial offense. He has harmed his _t'hy'la_ , and unforgivable crime in Vulcan culture. He has murdered his friend, an equally deplorable act in Human. Guilt is not of the question.

"For the time being, I will retire to the brig."

Dr. McCoy's eyes widen and the corner of his mouth tugs down in a deep scowl. "The _brig_?" he demands, "Spock, you—" he exhales in a sharp huff, but his frown lessens. "Spock, the Captain isn't—"

"My actions on Vulcan necessitate that I be detained until I may be properly punished. Upon arrival to Starbase 9, I will deliver myself to the authorities to be subject to trial for my crime."

Dr. McCoy's gaze settles on something just beyond Spock's right shoulder, and his lips quirk, he looks like he wants to say something but then—

"Don't you think you'd better ask me first?" 

Spock whirls, eyes widening and almost losing balance because  _there_ —standing, smirking, _alive_ , gloriously _alive_ —Jim's hands are on cocked hips and he grins and walks right past Spock's shoulder. 

"Captain!" Spock exclaims, surprise and shock and happiness erupting from deep within his chest and he turns to follow his Captain, who still has that infuriatingly smug look on his face. "Jim!" In a moment of giddiness, Spock grabs Jim's upper arms and tugs him around. He can feel the smile on his lips but he doesn't care, Spock could weep with relief and _not care_ because his _t'hy'la_ is _safe_. Jim laughs softly at Spock, his eyes dazed. Their bond, previously shriveled and dark, awakens and erupts in a tidal wave of joy, Spock's mind instinctively reacting to the proximity of his Captain. His entire being thrums with the rhythm of _mate t'hy'la friend Jim alive mate alive alive_  and Spock dizzies from the emotional whiplash. It is because his mental shields are in tatters that he allows his mind to seek Jim's, and there is a precious moment where Spock can feel his _t'hy'la_ on the other end of their mental connection before a wall springs between them, as thick and final as solid concrete. 

The floor feels as though it has lurched beneath him, and Spock's felicity quickly gives way to confusion. The smile falls from his face, and he lets his hands slide from their grip on Jim's shoulders. Then Jim steps back and away, and Spock's mind urges _wrong! closer!_ , and Spock feels inexplicably as though he is missing something. He looks Nurse Chapel, then to McCoy, who appears to be just short of vibrating with smugness.

Spock schools his expression. "How—?"

"That was no tri-ox compound I gave him! It was a neural tranquilizer! Knocked him right out. _Simulated_ death." McCoy's face splits into a wide grin as he turns to Jim, bouncing on his heels three times. Spock looks over at the Captain, whose gaze is stubbornly set on the toe of his left boot. McCoy's expression relaxes, and he claps Jim on the shoulder. 

"It's good to have you back, Jim." He says, and Jim smiles softly in return. 

The block remains firmly wedged at the precipice of Spock's mind. Confusion becomes disbelief. _Dread_. 

"Mr. Spock," Jim says, and Spock meets his hazel eyes and draws up to his full height, folding his hands behind his back in a practiced parade rest. "You have the rest of the day off to recover from your-" his gaze slides to Nurse Chapel, then back to Spock, "-illness. Get some rest. I expect you back on the bridge for Alpha shift tomorrow. Are we clear?" 

Spock nods jerkily. In his mind, he cautiously probes at the wall between them. He feels how it resembles a stone, a dam sprung up in the middle of the river between him and his _t'hy'la_.  It is solid. Intentional. Spock gathers himself mentally—noting how frail his psychic presence is and resolving to meditate as soon as possible—and presses against the concrete divider, gently but firmly. 

Jim immediately stiffens, his softly affectionate expression morphing quickly into one of vulnerability and anger. His shoulders snap back and his vertebrae align vertically as though someone has drawn a zipper up his spine. 

"Mr. Spock!" Jim snarls, "You are dismissed!"

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves Sick Bay, leaving nothing but the tell-tale  _swish_ of the automatic doors behind him. Spock ignores Nurse Chapel's shocked gasp, and the way McCoy gapes at the absent Captain, evidently surprised by his aggressive outburst. The muscles of Spock's jaw jump as he wordlessly motions his leave, following after the Captain out of Sick Bay and into the _Enterprise_ deck halls.

The rejection feels like a physical blow to the stomach. There is no question that the deliberate and ruthless shielding of Jim's mind is anything but a dismissal of their bond. Spock numbly heads in the direction of his personal quarters, fighting to keep his expression neutral when he passes personnel. He tries to sympathize with Jim's logic—relationships between Command officers are risky, uncommon, ill-advised, let alone a soulbond to the magnitude of a _t'hy'la_ pairing. Spock's affection for Jim had weakened his emotional control—he had hoped that Jim's tendency to disregard unnecessary regulation would extend to allow their joining, but—

 _No_ , Spock chastises himself firmly. Regardless of their roles aboard the starship _Enterprise_ , there is little probability that Jim would consider Spock a viable romantic partner in an alternate setting. He has little to offer the Captain what he cannot find elsewhere. Loyalty. Commitment. Devotion. All of which are in high supply to a Starfleet Captain. 

In actuality, Jim's rejection is, Spock decides as he reaches his quarters and restores the thermo-regulation to his optimal temperature range, entirely _logical_. Spock is at least grateful that Jim did not choose to scorn him in front of Dr. McCoy and Nurse Chapel. The Captain is ever-gracious, but psi-null species rarely find spontaneous mental connection to be a welcome invasion. If Spock believed in serendipity, he would consider himself lucky that he has not received transfer notification or a demerit. He certainly deserves one after nearly permanently maiming his commanding officer. 

Meditation does not come easily. 

The _t'hy'la_ bond wanes from undernourishment, threatening to destabilize what little control Spock has been able to regain over his telepathic shields. Instinct demands that Spock seek out his _t'hy'la_ , a violent impulse that shouts for him to claim, protect, _mate_. Beneath that is the urge to obey Jim's demands of distance, to give his mate anything to keep him happy and safe. 

Exhausted, disoriented, and with a brain more disorganized than it has ever been, Spock near collapses into bed after 2.37 hours of fitful meditation. 

 _I am a fool_ , Spock thinks, moments before sleep finally claims him.

* * *

Spock awakens after a night of restless sleep at 0445 the following morning. He shivers, pulling his rumpled meditation robes tighter around his shoulders. Despite the temperature control unit on the wall of his quarters reading his usual 113 **°** F, the tips of his extremities radiate cold. This is no doubt due to the bond, which—upon closer mental inspection—seems to have shrunken further into a state of decay. The solid wall separating Jim's consciousness from his own remains, as final and divisive as a physical barrier. 

Spock attempts to meditate, finding only a little more success than the night previous. By the time he is due for Alpha shift, Spock has regained a tenuous control over his telepathic faculties. The bond remains lifeless, a bitter and lingering reminder of his _t'hy'la's_  rejection. Spock's mind is... lonely.

As if summoned, the overhead intercom whistles. "Captain to Commander Spock."

Spock pauses in pulling on his regulation uniform. He starts to walk over to the communications panel by his quarters' door, but stumbles slightly when his boot catches on the edge of his desk. Losing balance, Spock is forced to grip the back of his office chair in order to steady himself from the sudden onslaught of dizziness. Spots float at the edge of his vision, blurring his line of sight and making his brain feel as though it is full of lead. He drops his head to chest, breathing deeply and fighting the spell. The sudden decrease in his performance and mental health is worrying. He resolves that he  _must_  speak with the Captain regarding the fledgling bonding. Pain fills his being at the thought of dissolving or breaking their connection, but the Vulcan side of him rises quickly to squander the physiological response. 

 _Pain is of the mind_ , Spock repeats the mantra to himself, centering and gritting his teeth against the tremors of the episode.  _This bond must be broken. It is unrequited. Kaiidth._

The intercom whines again. "Captain to Commander Spock. Come in, Commander Spock."

Spock fights through the lingering lightheadedness and jams his thumb at the receiver button on the communications panel. 

"Spock here." 

"Spock, I'd like to discuss with you a matter of professional and personal importance." Jim's voice has a disturbingly soothing effect on Spock, who feels something in his side loosen and un-tense at his Captain's words. "I'd like you to meet me in my quarters after your dinner. Is 1900 hours sufficient?" 

"Acknowledged and agreed, Captain."

Spock is almost finished dusting the high arches of his upward-turned eyebrows when the intercom signals again, this time with the chirp of the private channel. Spock acknowledges the notification and opens a voice chat.

"Spock here." He greets, methodically returning his cosmetics to their packaging and storage.

"McCoy. Spock, I'd like you to come by Sick Bay before dinner tonight."

Spock's eyebrow bounces upward towards his hairline. "Might I inquire _why_ , Doctor?"

McCoy's voice sounds disgruntled over the communications. "Damn it, Spock," McCoy grumbles, "You were having a- _an episode_. You were out of your  _mind_  down on Vulcan, and you can't expect me to ignore it. As your physician, isn't it  _logical_  that I'm  _concerned_  about your health?"

"Concern is an emotion with which Vulcans have no logical use." Spock replies smoothly, breezing through McCoy's exclamation of disgust, "But, I suppose it does make sense."

The doctor's sigh crackles through the intercom speaker.

"I will report to Sick Bay following Alpha Shift. Spock out."

Spock spares his appearance a final cursory glance before he turns sharply on his heel and exits his personal quarters. The Enterprise hallway is already busy with foot-traffic. Off duty and non-essential personnel traverse the deck, rushing in and out of quarters and turbolifts. Spock heads in the direction of the main lift. It takes him a moment longer than necessary, but almost immediately Spock realizes that the staff seem to be giving him a wider berth than routine. He even catches a young ensign eyeing him from where she is running diagnostics from a ship computer panel. When she sees that she's been spotted, her posture over-corrects and she looks away, hastily attempting to appear  _very busy_  with her diagnostic scan.

Spock thinks little of it, pausing slightly in his gait to allow the turbolift doors to  _swish_  open. When they closes behind him, he grabs the handle of the lift and twists it. 

"Bridge," Spock announces, just as his right knee buckles. 

This time when the dizziness comes, Spock has to beat back unconsciousness as it threatens to overpower him. His vision almost whites out entirely, his mind throbbing slightly, not in a way that hurts but enough to feel  _uncomfortable_.  _T'hy'la!_  Spock's mind urges,  _Jim!_

 _Enough!_ Spock thinks, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes. He falls into his mind slightly, taking stock of his telepathic plain and finding it almost in shambles. He allows himself to slip into a slight trance, quickly gathering the frayed edges of the bond and conjuring a mental compartmentalization, forcing the pulsating river of light—which has grown dim overnight—into a mental stasis. It requires a great deal of energy, but when he is through he can hardly sense the bond from behind the partition which he has isolated it. The only conscious reminder of its existence is Jim's shields, which have yet to change condition. In a haze, Spock thinks to congratulate the Captain on his ability to protect his mind. The level of skill he demonstrates in his continued projection of boundaries takes a great deal of practice to achieve. 

When Spock emerges from the trance, it is in just enough time to straighten into parade rest before the turbolift doors open to the Bridge. 

Jim is rubbing one hand over his temple when Spock comes to stand next to the command chair.

"Are you quite all right, Captain?" Spock addresses Jim with a slight incline of his head. He is aware of the bond reacting to the proximity of his  _t'hy'la_ , flaring madly behind the barrier in Spock's mind, but no pain afflicts him. Spock notes—with satisfaction—that he feels no irregular responses, other than a small but persistent urge to  _touch_. 

Jim waves him off with a tight smile. "Just fine, Mr. Spock. You may report to your station."

Spock acquiesces at the dismissal and walks the 4.09 meters over to the science officer station, meeting Lieutenant Uhura's sharp brown eyes and questioning gaze. She is no doubt speculative—along with the rest of the senior crew—about Spock's condition, after being so abruptly relieved of duty due to the unfortunate appearance of his Time. There are moments aboard the _Enterprise_  when Spock grows soft and affectionate; after all, it is quite unrealistic to expect complete avoidance of the crew's  _all_ -too-frequent displays of mushy emotionalism and to remain unaffected by them. It is quite predictable that he, as a member of a majority human crew, form an...  _attachment_  to the  _Enterprise_  and her passengers. His own tumultuous feelings surrounding his Captain aside, Spock can easily claim respect, admiration, and even an amount of sentimentality towards his coworkers. Perhaps even those with which he has complicated,  _confusing_  relationships, like Dr. McCoy. 

There are other moments, like this one, where Spock misses the company of Vulcans.

His Vulcan peers would have not even a polite interest in his personal affairs. It would be offensive to even  _consider_  prying into a colleague's private life, a violation of the unspoken respect of privacy. To Vulcans, small talk is a waste of words.  _Undignified_. 

His fellow crewmembers are not Vulcan, and therefore have no qualms with—and Spock suspects,  _find enjoyment in_ —conspiracy, hypothecation, and one fears even  _investigation_ , into Spock's business. Spock is thankful when his Captain calls for him.

"Report, Mr. Spock."

"We are approaching Altair IV, Captain." Spock recites, straightening in his seat at the sensor console. His eyes scan the mission dossier, and he reads the information aloud. "As Ms. Uhura will confirm, Federation vessel _U.S.S. Musashi_  is already in orbit of the Class "M" planet. The  _Musashi_  is a Galaxy Class starship, under direction of Captain Floyd, Admiral Komack commanding."

"Standard orbit, Mr. Sulu," Jim instructs, his hand absentmindedly thumbing the corner of his mouth. "Mr. Spock, what can you tell us about the planet? Its people?"

"The inhabitants of Altair IV are humanoid, sir. Their society values the concepts of heritage and tradition, hence the inauguration that we have been instructed to observe. Altairians are relatively harmonious, seeming to have very little need of a centralized global government. The election we have been summoned to witness is purely ceremonial and celebratory in nature." Jim processes the information as Spock lists it, bobbing his head to encourage Spock to continue. "Altair IV is an Earth-like planet, with liquid oceans and five distinct continents. The ritual will be hosted on the second largest of the landmasses, which is in its autumnal cycle. Temperatures fluctuate between 76 and 89 degrees and daylight hours equal 14.7 Earth hours on average, Captain."

"Excellent," Jim stands and claps his hands together, rubbing his palms in a ' _let's get to it_ ' display. "Our presence here is strictly diplomatic. Lieutenant Uhura—" the Captain whirls to face her when she removes her communications piece from her ear, "—compile a summary of social customs and expectations, then have it distributed to the senior staff and relevant personnel. You have your orders."

The Lieutenant nods purposefully, immediately turning into her seat and beginning to type input into her console. 

"Everyone else," the Captain announces, "maintain present course. Standard procedure. Stand by for further instruction." 

"Aye aye, sir." Lieutenant Sulu responds from the helm. When his eyes slide over to Spock and he sees that Spock is already watching him, he doesn't look away.

Meanwhile, the Captain meanders over to the First Officer's station, his legs swinging in front of him in idleness. His movements pull Spock's attention away from the helmsman. Spock notes signs of fatigue in the faint darkness below Jim's eyes, his dull expression, the tension at the corners of his mouth. Spock feels concern itch at his sternum, soothes it with Surakian principles.  _Illogical_ , he chides. Jim yawns, his hands reaching above and behind his head in a languid stretch and leaning his hip against the  bridge handrails.

"Spock," he murmurs, "did you know your left ear twitches when you're annoyed? Like a cat." 

"Captain," Spock blinks, "I cannot determine a logical motivation for your actions."

"'My actions'?" 

"Lying, sir." 

Jim laughs softly, an overall delightful sound itself. His amusement rings like a melody to Spock's bond-ridden mind, soothing and warming and melting Spock's heart. For a moment, Spock forgets that he feels frigid in the bridge's air conditioning, instead feeling a healthy flush rush to his cheekbones. The connection between them strains valiantly against the wall it is encased in, thrumming with  _t'hy'la love Jim happy mate content_. Then, Jim leans over the handrail and claps Spock on the forearm.

There is a jolt like a static shock, then the bond lurches violently against the wall in Spock's mind. Jim pulls his hand back like he's been burned, sucking in a breath through his teeth. Spock feels as though he has been doused in ice water, and he suppresses a shudder against the sudden wave of coldness.

"Mr. Spock," Jim says, pausing to rub the heel of his palm against his eyes with a grimace, "please report to the Transporter Room. Admiral Komack will be beaming aboard shortly for a mission briefing. I'd like you there to oversee his arrival."

Spock averts his eyes from his  _t'hy'la_  and wordlessly rises from his station to follow orders. He pauses momentarily, faltering at the head-rush, but plows forward when he sees Jim's eyebrows furrow in concern. He leaves the bridge in a slight daze. Spock is not a sad man, nor tends to be regretful. He handles himself quite well, and even though he is of mixed heritage, he was  _raised_  Vulcan. He lives by the teachings of Surak. But the past week has left Spock an emotional wreck. He is exhausted as the result of his  _pon farr_. He is distraught both from his perceived loss of his Captain's life and the experienced rejection of his  _t'hy'la_. His telepathic faculties are in shambles and as the bond becomes weaker in his mind, its influence becomes more acute. There is a constant ache in his side now, where his heart has been taken from him, and dizzy spells come fast and frequent.  Spock is undesirable as a bondmate; he has been renounced by his beloved. By Vulcan standards, Spock is a burnout. 

An over emotional and desperately pining half-human hybrid officer of  _Starfleet_ , no less. 

Frustration threatens to choke him, and this time Spock does not have enough energy to suppress it. Spock is drowning; The ocean inside of him swells and beckons him further into the deep. _Lak'tra alem-masu. Grief is water_ , Surak teaches. _It sources and flows through all things. It has a flood, and an ebb_. Find peace and logic in the scorch of the Vulcan desert, the sun, the heat. _Bolik kal-tor pseth du_. You must let it dry, you must move on.

All warmth has been leeched from Spock, the greedy and suffering bond absorbing all energy from his body in a valiant attempt to stay  _alive_. Soon, it will burn itself up from the inside, like an overloaded phaser bank with no release. All that is left will be Spock, a cold and empty derelict of the once respectable scientist. Spock can't _breathe_.

This time when the turbolift doors _swish_ open, Spock has to take several moments to compose himself from where he has leaned against the cold metal hull of the  _Enterprise_  for support. He takes a deep gulp of air through his nose, then straightens and tugs his uniform down sharply. For now, his mental shields hold against the vortex the bond is creating in his mind. 

 _For now_ , he thinks.  _For now_.  

The Admiral's arrival on the _Enterprise_  occurs with very little difficulty. The Admiral is a rather unattractive man, stout and bulky. His hair is graying in places and white in others, and the lines of his face are severe and unfriendly. His gold uniform is decorated with his Starfleet insignia of rank. The Captain stands at attention to greet him, and clasps one of Admiral Komack's hands in both of his with a tight but altogether polite smile. 

"Welcome aboard, Admiral Komack." Jim says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He is the picture of hospitality and diplomacy. "Many apologies for our delay, but the Vulcan Elder T'Pau cannot be ignored, you see." 

Admiral Komack presses his lips together in an unimpressed frown.

"I do indeed  _see_ , Captain Kirk." 

Spock is able to invest all his mental faculties in restraining the splintering bond afflicting his brain, and working on autopilot the Admiral boards the  _Enterprise_  without transporter incident. By the time Spock has been relieved from Alpha shift, his  _t'hy'la_ —the  _Captain_  is busy carting around the Starfleet command officer on a no doubt grandiose and long-winded tour of the ship and Spock is on the verge of physical collapse. Tremors wrack his body in small increments, and cold bites at his fingers and the tips of his ears. 

The chronometer reads 1720 when Spock reports to Sick Bay. 

"You look like  _shit_ , Spock." Dr. McCoy says as a manner of greeting, patting his observation table with one hand. Spock complies with the wordless request and seats himself ungracefully on the bench. The doctor immediately begins his diagnostics pattern, tying in Spock's readings with the display above the bulkhead. For a moment, Spock—unable to find energy for banter—and McCoy—busy frowning at his medical tricorder—stand in relatively comfortable silence, save for the beeps and whistles of the medical instruments as they whir away at analysis. 

It is broken when McCoy shuts off his tricorder with a snap, frowning as he gives Spock a visual once-over. 

"I'm not sure if this is significant," he begins, "I'm not trained in Vulcan healing, and your hybrid status gives you a unique physiology to any of both Vulcan and Human records."

"That being said," McCoy goes on, leaning his weight on his hands that rest on the observation table, "your readings are as close to Vulcan-normal as I've  _ever_  seen them."

"Meaning  _what_  exactly, doctor?" Spock cocks his head at McCoy, his voice pitched low and raspy from tiredness. 

"I don't  _know_!" McCoy huffs in exclamation, throwing his hands above his head. "Your heart rate, blood pressure, and core temperature are at their lowest on record. That may be a result of the  _pon farr_ —" McCoy horribly butchers the pronunciation, the words sounding like "pawn far" in his Southern drawl, "—or maybe not."

The doctor leans in suddenly, squinting at Spock in scrutiny, who leans away instinctively to McCoy's invasion of his space. 

"You feeling alright?" McCoy interrogates, "Having trouble concentrating? Any dizziness, nausea, insomnia? Are you...  _cold_ , Spock?"

Spock considers him for a second, and raises his eyebrows in an expression of thought. He blinks, considering how much information he is willing to share with the doctor before he has a chance to speak to Jim. 

"I admit," Spock says softly, "I have found the thermal atmosphere growing increasingly uncomfortable." At the aggressive jump of McCoy's brow, Spock continues. "I have found difficultly achieving a meditative state since my return to the  _Enterprise_  yesterday. And... I have. Had approximately, a half dozen or so, spells of vertigo. In which I find myself unable to speak nor walk great distances without pain to my mind."

McCoy curses a blue streak. 

" _Approximately?!_  A half dozen  _or so_ , Spock?" The doctor has now resorted to pacing around Sick Bay as he raves, his face becoming a rather impressive shade of red.

"I will speak to the Captain this evening at 1900 hours in order to arrange meeting with a Vulcan  _Hakausu_. The  _Intrepid_  is scheduled to dock at nearby Starbase 9 in four solar days. As an entirely Vulcan crew, it is a logical assumption that a qualified  _Hakausu_  will be among their staff." 

" _Dammit_ , Spock," McCoy curses again, but without as much venom as before, "I'll sign off on whatever orders Jim can issue, and I can give you something to help the cold, but  _only if_  you promise to report immediately to M'Benga if this gets any worse,  _you hear me_?"

"Loud and clear, doctor." 

McCoy sighs and it sounds almost exactly like the hypospray hisses when the doctor administers the medication.

"C'mon now," McCoy says gruffly, "I'll join you on your way to the mess. I'm heading that way myself."

Spock has spent enough time on and off duty with McCoy to see a gesture of friendship when it is offered. He accepts.

The dining hall of the Enterprise is bustling with activity when Spock and McCoy arrive just shy of 1800 hours. There is a cafeteria line of about 20 personnel at each of the three replicators, and the buzz of noise forces Spock to lean in close to hear the doctor when he speaks. Spock, as an exceptionally strong telepath, able to project his mind and consciousness across physical distance unlike other touch telepaths of his species, reinforces his mental shields. In his mind, he builds shelter against the deafening chatter of a hundred untrained Human minds projecting their thoughts and emotions, using the bond-barrier that Jim keeps enforced as a crutch. Mentally, he props himself against the wall, feeling how it leaches heat from him further, and seals off his shields, muting the telepathic background noise to a tolerable level.

The practice is one that Spock performs regularly, yet at this time it leaves him exhausted. He sways dangerously next to McCoy, woozy and disoriented momentarily. His eyes slip closed, his stance widening to correct the loss of balance. 

"Whoa, there! Spock!" McCoy quickly grabs a strong hold on his upper arms, dragging Spock to the closest unoccupied table and seating him roughly. His hands fly over Spock, taking care to avoid his bare skin. He checks Spock's ears, his shoulders, his neck, and is about to start testing the mobility range of Spock's  _elbow_  when Spock's arms finally start obeying him and one hand reaches out—lightening fast—and clamps down on McCoy's wrist.

"Cease this, doctor." Spock grits out between clenched teeth. McCoy splutters indignantly and snatches his wrist back, cradling it against his chest.

"Excuse  _me_ , you  _hobgoblin_ ," McCoy hisses, "but you turned white as a sheet! Would you rather me to just let you  _pass out on the floor_?" McCoy's face contorts. " _Don't answer that_ ," He snaps. 

"If you are quite done," Spock says, one hand coming up to settle over his eyes as he wills away the lingering static at the edges of his vision, "I ask that you either escort me to my quarters where I might attempt meditation—" McCoy huffs again, ready to interject, "—or that you acquire _barkaya marak_  from the synthesizers and let me eat  _in peace_."

McCoy's blue eyes flash like steel but he jumps up, flapping his hands angrily as he moves to the end of the dinner line. 

When he returns 13.7 minutes later, McCoy is carrying a tray containing a bowl of chili and Terran cornbread and a tray which he plops down in front of Spock. On it is a bowl of vegetable soup and Vulcan _kap_. For a moment, Spock considers feeling touched by McCoy's apparent knowledge of Vulcan cuisine, but then the doctor begins speaking and Spock dismisses the notion. 

"Bone-ah-petite, Princess." McCoy grumbles. Spock raises an unimpressed eyebrow that the doctor pointedly ignores as he tucks into his food with gusto.

It isn't until after when McCoy hands Spock another set of internal thermoregulation hyposprays and leaves Spock to himself with a clap on the shoulder and a reminder to 'let me know what Jim recommends' that Spock allows himself a brief moment of panic. The chronometer reads 1852. Steeling himself, Spock rises and deposits his tray in the matter receptacle.

The Captain is not in his quarters when Spock arrives outside the door. For a moment Spock stands there, puzzled, before he hears his name be called from down the corridor. The bond—which had been dormant all evening—sparks to new life. It is agitated by the presence of its other half.

"Mr. Spock!" Spock turns on his heel, slipping his hands behind his back as the Captain rounds the corner. Jim waves and puts on a light jog until he comes shoulder to shoulder with Spock. "Hey," Jim says, breathing deeply, "sorry about that. The Admiral's mission briefing was...extremely in-depth, I left as soon as I was able."

"Apologies are unnecessary, Captain." Spock acquiesces as he follows Jim into the Captain's quarters, the door clicking shut behind him as the privacy screen engages automatically. "Captain, there is something I must speak to you about—"

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you,  _Commander_?" Jim grins at Spock from where he has punched codes into his personal replicator. His face softens considerably, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an exceptionally endearing manner. His expression looks tired, just this side of weary. There is a thin sheen of perspiration on his Captain's face, and his skin flushes an almost-unhealthy blush. A pitcher of iced  _saya_  materializes in the tray of the food synthesizer. 

"Yes, Jim," Spock murmurs, "I can hypothesize." 

When his  _t'hy'la_  smiles at him, Spock is knocked momentarily speechless. Jim's golden aura seems to halo his figure, clearing the air like sunshine after a thunderstorm. Deep within Spock, emotion splinters through his psyche and shakes him to his core, effectively destabilizing the stasis that he had coerced the bond into earlier that day. With great feeling, the bond breaks free of the binding, yearning and pulling and  _seeking_  Jim's mind. At this time, the river of light grows and swells into an ocean, washing over and beneath the surface of Spock's mind and beating against the wall separating him from Jim, like the crash of waves against a shoreline. The sea in Spock's mind is glacial and frigid and it crashes forward into the bond-barrier with such force that Spock staggers physically.

Jim's face contorts suddenly into a grimace of pain, his hand shooting up to grip his temples. Spock mirrors his actions, and both of them are shaken by the bond that links their two minds. It demands that they meet, join,  _unify_ —

"God, what—" Jim pants, squeezing his eyes shut as a bead of sweat runs down the bridge of his nose. He fans himself uselessly. 

" _That_ , Jim," Spock tries not to let his teeth chatter. He is  _freezing_ , "is the matter about which I wish to discuss with you."

Immediately, Jim goes very, very still. His face blanks, the pinched expression sliding off his face. He looks at Spock like he is seeing him for the first time clearly. Spock can see it—or sense it, what does it matter—the  _hostility_. The unease. Wariness. The feeling cuts through to Spock and it  _hurts_ , the waves of distrust coming from his  _t'hy'la_. The instinctive urge beats sluggishly through his veins saying  _wrong fix this unhappy t'hy'la wrong_. 

"Spock," Jim says quietly, "do you know something about this? This...  _presence_ , in the back of my head?"

As if to illustrate his words, Spock can  _feel_  Jim for the first time on the other side of the division between their minds. His thoughts, feelings, emotions are all muted, like they're underwater. Despite the wall separating them, Spock can feel quite acutely when Jim seizes a hold of the bond and  _shakes it_. Pain ricochets through Spock's mind where the unhealed and untethered bond whips against his telepathic shielding. 

"Jim, please," Spock gasps, falling to his knees before his Captain and _t'hy'la,_  "what you are feeling is the result of a spontaneous bonding between us, which originated down on the surface of Vulcan during the heat of my blood fever." 

Jim kneels next to Spock, reaching out his hand tentatively, instinctively, and it grips Spock's bicep, squeezing gently. He searches Spock's face, eyes imploring. 

" _Bonding_ , Spock?" He urges helplessly, "I don't understand." 

"There is a bond among my people," Spock recites, dropping his head down to his chest, "a warrior bond, born of combat. The warrior bond formed between us, during the blood fever of my  _pon farr_. When I... believed you to be dead. We are  _telsu_ , Jim."  _Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched._

"We're connected?" Jim's voice sounds far away, "this  _thing_ —this bond—in the back of my head. It's a... link between us?"

"In essence, yes." Spock confirms, daring to look up and read the expression on his Captain's face. Jim appears lost in thought, his eyes unseeing and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His cheeks are mottled and red. A slight furrow appears between his brow, and Spock is distantly aware of the Captain's thumb rubbing mindlessly at his upper arm. Jim's eyes suddenly snap to Spock's form.

"You're hurt," Jim says as if he just noticed for the first time. "is it because of the bond?"

Spock hesitates. Understanding dawns on Jim, and his face hardens. 

"It  _is_ , isn't it?" He demands. 

"Yes." When Jim curses, Spock continues. "The bond, it can be... broken. By a trained  _Hakausu_. If one desires."

Anguish fills Spock at the thought of breaking  _telsu_  to his  _t'hy'la_ , but Spock fights it, squanders it. He will give the Captain the freedom to choose his commitment, even if it tears Spock apart in the process. He has already harmed his mate before, nearly killed him in the haze of _plak tow_. He will not do it again. 

"Broken," Jim echoes.

"The  _Intrepid_  is scheduled to dock at Starbase 9 in four days. Among their staff are Vulcan healers who are adept in telepathic medicine."

"Yes," Jim says, then quieter, "I will inform Ensign Chekov of our change in course, following the Altarian coronation." 

Jim's hand slips from Spock's shoulder and he stands, pulling Spock up from his elbows. For a moment he looks as though he is about to speak, but then he shakes his head subtly and steps back, out of Spock's personal space. The bond twines between them, quiet for the first time since its conception. There is a moment of tension, and once again Spock is struck by the incredibly vague feeling that he  _missed_  something.

 _Intuition_ , his mother calls it. 

 _Superstition_ , his father retorts. 

"Mr. Spock, at your discretion," Jim says, subdued, "you may return to your quarters."

"Yes, Captain." 

That night, after 42.3 minutes of failed meditation, lying on his back beneath the downy comforter, thermal blanket, and his fleece sleeping robe, the thermoregulation controls raised to 126° F, Spock—shivering violently and desperately willing sleep to take him—feels the muted impression of his  _t'hy'la_  stirring behind the bond-barrier. For a minute, Spock is soothed by Jim's activity, and then there is the distinct image of a door being  _slammed_ , and the wall-barrier stretches, grows, reinforces itself deliberately to sever the bond between them. Spock's side of the bond wanes so severely that Spock verbally cries out against the emptiness, shuddering at the longing within his abdomen when it doubles,  _triples_  in strength.  _T'hy'la_ , Spock thinks in a half-crazed state of hysteria,  _Jim, my Captain, my mate_. The bond dims and withers and yearning clutches at Spock's heart painfully before unconsciousness finally claims him.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

In Spock's educated opinion, there are some phrases that Vulcan simply coins better than Standard. 

1\. Skamaya (adj.) 

_The quality of arousing interest; being attractive or something that attracts._  

"Do you play, Mr. Spock?"

Spock's neck turns and draws his passive gaze upward to the Human occupying the majority of his peripheral area. The Starbase recreation area is bustling with activity, and the air is filled to the brim with verbal and telepathic chatter. A party of Andorian ambassadorial staff passes the hall floor with parcels of shipments and transported luggage. Lieutenant Sulu is laughing along heartily to the melodic natter of a _Gladora Neboxi_ crew from a visiting voyager vessel. A Starfleet Captain, bedecked in bronze-yellow tunic and a four-time gilded sleeve of rank, raises his fair eyebrow expectantly at Spock with a polite and friendly smile gracing his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"I do," Spock says, inclining his head and gesturing with a broad hand to the seat across from the three dimensional chessboard. The man's mouth widens and folds his expression into a charismatic grin, exposing a dimple that pronounces the apples of his rosy cheeks. The stranger sinks into the opposite booth gratefully. "I have personally formatted a chess-game simulation for the  _Enterprise_ computers." Spock continues, "Would you care for a challenge, Captain?"

Instead of answering, the man delightedly responds with an opening move. He leans forward, allowing his brown hair to fall gracefully into a curl above his eye-line, and advances a pawn two spaces and a platform, exposing his knight on Spock's left side. Spock's eyes slide down to the checkered board, assessing his strategic opponent. He is right-handed, favors the secondary level of the playing field, and watches the direction of Spock's calculating stare for any tells or twitches. The Human's behavior is excitedly interesting; he obviously demonstrates experience with the game of chess, and is likely a clever and capable strategist by inference. He is also confident in his strengths—or perhaps, although Spock doubts, is foolish—for challenging a Vulcan to a competition of logic.

Spock finds himself intrigued. 

Spock's long fingers wrap around the head of his right-hand knight—drawing the Captain's attention away from analyzing Spock's body language—and he moves the piece forward in a flat L-shape. It remains on the largest of the platforms. It is his customary opening, an extended invitation for the opponent to reveal more evidence of a strategy before Spock demonstrates his own. The Captain seated across from Spock slowly lowers his brow into a concentrated stare, and copies Spock's previous move with his own knight. Spock counters effortlessly by moving a pawn forward towards the center of the board, displaying his bishop and queen. The Captain easily follows by placing his dark-space bishop beside his elevated pawn. 

As the pair play in silence, the lengths in between rounds grows by seconds, at times extending into minutes as both Spock and the Captain appraise each other's military science. The Captain seems to move sporadically, preferring to draw and divide Spock's attention to all levels of the board and diverting Spock's attempt to chase a rook by out-maneuvering the enemy knight, then capturing the piece with a hidden bishop in an outer wing. There are moments where Spock is blind-sided by the seeming illogic of the Captain's actions until his motivation becomes clear. His opponent avoids Spock's set-ups by choosing to remain neutral in situations where he might make a gain, or ignoring the trap entirely to open a new area of the board with his pawn or king. 

They are 46 moves into the game, and Spock moves in to check the Captain's king. The Captain sighs and leans back from the table, pushing his queen—which Spock had been frustratingly unable to capture—in between the line of fire. 

"Do you like serving on the _Enterprise_ , Mr. Spock?" 

Spock looks up and steeples his fingers, bringing his elbows to rest in front of him on the table. 

"Personal opinion is of negligible importance to a scientist, much less to a Vulcan." Spock doesn't quite answer the question, curious as to the Captain's line of inquiry. The other man nods to himself, as if he expected the reply. Spock advances a bishop to threaten the enemy queen. His opponent is down both of his knights, a bishop and rook each, and all but two pawns. Defeat is eminent in less than 10 moves, so long as Spock captures the Captain's queen. 

"Are you satisfied, then? With the function of the _Enterprise_?" This time when Spock levels his gaze, his opposition meets his eyes. The mysterious Human's eyes flash hazel in the Starbase's humming electrical lighting, a ring of chartreuse bordering his dark pupils. Spock does not bother to look away. 

"I find the _Enterprise_ to be," Spock offers, "a noble starship, and a worthy assignment."

The Captain smiles softly, beaming gently at Spock and reaching forwards to make his next move. His expression stirs something deep within Spock's mind, and Spock dazedly finds himself stunned by the subtle beauty of the man before him. 

"Good, I'm glad." The Captain says, "Oh, and Mr. Spock?"

"Yes, Captain?" 

"Checkmate." The Captain reaches up to the third left wing and places a white-space bishop within diagonal line of Spock's king. Spock's eyebrows launch skyward as his eyes dart around the three-dimensional chessboard. The Captain is undeniably the victor, Spock's king is wedged between one of his own pawns and an opposing overlooked rook, and escape routes are blocked by the frustratingly evasive enemy queen. Spock's mouth falls open in a slight gape and the man before him radiates both humility and smugness as he pushes Spock's captured pieces back to his side of the board. 

"Captain James T. Kirk." The man announces, rising from his seat. "You play an excellent game. I have a feeling we'll make a good team, Mr. Spock." 

Spock's head jerks up as the man straightens his Command gold uniform with a sharp tug. The stranger—his new Captain—waits until Spock regains control over his shell-shocked expression and meets Kirk's bright hazel eyes before winking thick eyelashes.

"Goodbye, Commander." Kirk offers one last blinding smile before he turns and stalks away, past the alcove housing an increasingly intoxicated Lieutenant Sulu, whose entourage of _Gladora Neboxi_ has been joined by Commander Scott and a duo of Starfleet engineers. 

A pull of wonder and intrigue at the base of his chest urges Spock to follow after Kirk, the scientific instinct to seek and study and _intimately understand_ his new Captain tingling within him. Curiosity is a genetic disposition within the Vulcan species, an evolutionary trait that is cultivated and encouraged since birth. Idly, Spock notes to patch an update into the _Enterprise_ chess-software and attempt to emulate the Captain's intricately intriguing play style. 

_Fascinating_ , Spock thinks. 

2\. Aitlun (n.)

_An inclination towards instinctive physical desire; the feeling that accompanies an unsatisfied state._

It's quite obscene, really. Spock watches the electronic image of the Captain leaning down to gather the bright yellow powder and bring it within smelling distance to his sweat-streaked face, and the front of his regulation trousers tightens. 

The senior bridge crew watches the view screen as Kirk pack handfuls of the sulfur substance into the hollowed out bamboo-like tube. The Captain's physical condition has waned dangerously since his unfortunate arrival onto the arena planet—he sports a rather painful looking head wound and a gash on the upper part of his bicep—but the Gorn remains a steady distance away. Spock has no concern for the Captain, who will be the logical victor of the altercation. Kirk's brilliance has—once again—given him a competitive edge. The unfortunate side effect of his ingenuity stiffens in Spock's pants, and Spock struggles to extinguish the growing arousal and regain control of his emotional discipline.

"Yes," Spock hears himself say, " _good_."

"What is it, Spock?" Dr. McCoy's gaze doesn't waver from the monitor as he comes to stand next to Spock at the command console. "What is he doing?"

Spock steeples his fingers together and brings them to his chin, crossing one leg delicately over the knee and effectively concealing his desire. 

"It is an _invention_ , doctor. Charcoal, saltpeter, sulfur." Spock's voice has dropped in pitch and sounds husky when he responds, "Recall your basic chemistry, doctor. The Captain has made _gunpowder_."

McCoy's round eyebrow jumps as he squints at the display. The Captain has taken off into a light jog in the direction of the valley gorge. He pants heavily, his gold shirt sticking to his body from the oppressive heat of the planet's twin suns. Spock watches, captivated, as Kirk spots a shaded outcrop, glittering with crystalline material. With both hands, the Captain shovels the diamond-like rocks into the muzzle of the makeshift cannon. He reaches up and wrenches away a piece of flint from the wall of the cliff face, gripping the dark mineral in his fist and swinging the weapon over his shoulder. He groans softly at the added weight but continues onward, back towards the cliff where he and the Gorn were first beamed down.

Spock concentrates on mitigating his physiological responses to his newly-realized physical attraction to the Captain. His core body temperature has jumped 1.02 degrees, the tips of his ears and fingers tingling with arousal of the Vulcan erogenous zones. Spock struggles to attain _shaula_ —self-control—as he is forcefully reminded of his Captain's dynamic ingenuity and intelligence. To be one with the Captain's mind...Spock cannot even entertain such an illogical fantasy. 

_Ak'shem-hali khartau nash-veh_ , Spock chants to himself as he watches the Captain—sweaty and breathless and _oh so brilliant_ —plunges his hands into the sandy earth, digging out a notch in which he places his invention. _The body is a vessel which I command_.

Lieutenant Uhura cries out in shock when the deafening boom of the gunpowder explosion shakes the bridge of the _Enterprise_. 

When the air clears, the Captain stands victorious over the corpse of the Gorn, an unhappy frown marring his glorious features. The disembodied voice of their captor declares Kirk the champion and promises to restore control to the _Enterprise_ as reward. Spock rises from the command chair in anticipation for the Captain's return to the bridge. With a final congratulations from their spectators, Kirk materializes on the bridge, bringing with him a swirl of rust-colored dust. He sways momentarily, and the senior staff sucks in a collective breath. Kirk holds up a flat hand to dismiss them.

"I guess I'd better...get myself cleaned up then," Kirk announces to the bridge crew, turning in a semi-circle to address everyone present. "Bones, if you'll accompany me to Sick Bay-?" 

The doctor jumps up immediately, turning to Ensign Chekov as he grouses _"did you get that on tape?"_ over his shoulder. The tension is dispelled and a few people laugh softly at the humorous comment. Dr. McCoy loops his arm through the Captain's elbow loosely, guiding him up the ramp and towards the turbolift. Just before they reach the doors, Kirk stops and turns, his eyes zeroing in on Spock.

"Mr. Spock," Kirk calls softly, "you have the bridge."

That night, the aromatic smoke from the _asenoi_ curls delicately in the air as Spock slips into a deep meditational state, seated on a _tho'san_ stone. It is common practice for Vulcans to visualize a mental presence in an attempt to achieve a thorough control over the mind— _tvi-schoya_. Within his brain's landscape, Spock finds himself reclining on the fine indigo sands of the Vulcan dunes, bathing in the silvery moonlight from the twin satellites above. He sits below a duet of trees, and though there is no breeze, their branches sway gently, exposing in their canopy an inky black sky coated in stars. One of the trees, a Terran eucalyptus, stands tall enough to seemingly reach the heavens, its starkly pale trunk contrasting with the deep purple of the earth. The eucalyptus represents Spock's maternal family bond with his mother, and although their mutual love maintains the health of the bond-tree, it has not flowered in many seasons. His father's tree is a Vulcan _th'laax_ , a dwarf species coveted for its rare and spicy-smelling violet blooms. His mother kept many of them on his childhood property. The paternal bond-tree is alive, but its branches remain bare. 

Spock centers himself under the shelter of his familial bonds, finding inner peace from the sea of emotions warring within. His inability to control his physical responses to the Captain's attractiveness is a pressing issue. Emotions are intense to the Vulcan mind—especially arousal, which can burn so acutely that in a seven-year cycle, it can become fatal—and Spock must regain mastery over his feelings for Jim Kirk. 

The night sky is clear in Spock's mind, save for a handful of cirrus clouds, which cling to the horizon. The air holds moisture, and with it the promise of rain. Storm. _Monsoon_. 

3\. Vaikaya (n.)

_A strong sense of devotion or commitment; feelings of ardent affection._

The Vulcan common tongue, _Golic_ , is like most other aspects of the Vulcan culture: _logical_. A dignified _orensu_ (one who studies; student) strives for clear and decisive verbiage and delivery, succinct diction, and very little unnecessary babble. There are... _expectations_ that accompany the _Golic_ language. Words typically carry more than one meaning, often situational in nature, therefore  _Golic_ speakers require nuance and finesse in the skill of interpretation. As a physically telepathic species, Vulcan physiology adapts neuro-chemical synapses to develop in the language cortex in the brain at a young age; Most Vulcan children are fluent and able to carry sophisticated conversation in _Golic_ and Standard by the age of three Terran years. Dishonesty is largely disapproved of, so culturally in fact that there is only _one_  word in the _Golic_ tongue that translates to all synonyms of the phrase "dishonest": the noun and verb word _ritrau_.

When Spock turned eighteen years old according to the Terran calendar, his parents gifted him an antique ink-and-paper collection of poetry, containing the written works of Vulcan, Human, Andorian, and Bajoran artists. 

Spock's library grew exponentially in the following decade. Spock cultivated the antiquity of his native _Golic_ , devoured figurative language and frivolity of the emotional human Standard, muttered Andorian poetry under his breath to best appreciate the rhythmic audio of the humming pronunciation, read of the rich historical nuance of the spirited Bajoran revolution. Spock enjoys languages, their subtle conflictions and intrigue. _V'tosh ka'tur_ (Vulcans that do no disagree with Surak's teachings, yet reject with elders in practice; Vulcans without logic) poet and revisionist T'Yela (a name with the root _yelas_ , the Golic word for a yellow sun-loving annual that blooms on a tall spike) remains to present one of Spock's most appreciated authors. Her _a'rip'an_ (four-line poetry with 12 syllables—three per line—similar to a haiku) reads as follows:

_A'rie'mnu_

_Kai'tan mesh_

_Vlur, pau-dov_

_T'Rukhemai_

Translated into Standard, T'Yela writes:

_Passion's master,_

_Suppress this shameful pain_

_Howl, the halo's shadow_

_In the Eye of the Watcher's moon_

In her poem, T'Yela envisions the final monologue of the goddess  _Sekhet_  (emotional, passion-loving deity defeated by  _Surak'_ s logic in quest for  _Kolinahru_ ). In her final moments, _Sekhet_ mourns her own death and submits to the illogic of her emotions under the dawn of the small moon that circles Vulcan's sister ice-world, _T'Khut_. It is a moving literature.

"Your personal library, Captain?" Spock eyes the small L-shaped bookshelves in the corner of the Captain's work desk, crammed with hard and paperback novellas, anthologies, and texts, as well as a personal computer PADD, a glossy synthe-ceramic mug containing writing utensils, and a pair of reading glasses in a leather case. Captain Kirk—who continuously insists on "first name-basis" whenever off-duty—glances up at Spock through his eyelashes, surprise evident in his features. He follows the nod of Spock's head, twisting around in his seat to look at his own possessions. 

"Ah, yes, my books," Captain Kirk says as he turns back to the three-dimensional chessboard between them, "you have a favorite author, Mr. Spock?" 

The Captain smiles pleasantly as he asks, moving his C3 rook to space 2C7 on the secondary platform. Spock mulls the answer in his head silently, advancing a pawn one to threaten Jim's knight, confident that the Captain will not sacrifice the piece. Predictably, Captain Kirk acquiesces and retreats.

"I must confess I greatly enjoy a great deal of Terran authors, most favorably the works of Lewis Carroll, Ernest Hemingway, and T. S. Eliot."

" _I am no prophet—and here's no great matter,_ " Jim murmurs, " _I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker And in short, I was afraid._ "

"'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'." Spock voice remains even despite his pleasant surprise, "You are familiar with Eliot's writing?"

The Captain laughs cheerfully. "Him and Whitman and the rest of the Academy of American Poets." 

" _'For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you'_." 

The Captain nods along, then backtracks. "Lewis Carroll, _really_? That's some pretty.. _.high fantasy_ for a Vulcan."

Spock moves the same pawn forward again, to E4. He leans back in the chair, clasping his hands and folding them in his lap. 

" _Through the Looking Glass_ remains my mother's most esteemed piece of literature. It is of significance to myself and my childhood."

"I've never read it," Jim admits, "but I trust your mother's taste. Maybe I should queue it to my PADD library." Jim picks up his rook on 2C7 and hesitates for a moment. The chess piece hovers a few inches above the board for a fraction of a second before the Captain swoops back down to move it in front of Spock's dark-space bishop. 

"I will lend you the copy from my own collection, if you wish." 

Jim's hand stutters, and the rook lands off-balance. The piece tips and lands on it's side, rolling in a quarter circle across the checkered board. When he looks up at Spock, his hazel eyes are wide with shock and awe, and his plump bottom lip fall open and curls up with glee. A delightful crinkle appears in the highest points of the Captain's cheekbones, and a pink glow blushes across the bridge of Jim's nose. Spock is marginally starstruck.

"You'd let me borrow your book, huh?" 

"Of course," Spock says, as though this were obvious. Evidently, it isn't. Spock considers it a failing of the Standard language, the lack of specific inference. "I trust you, Jim."

Captain Kirk's face softens, and he smiles down at his lap. Spock moves his bishop haphazardly. They play quietly for a handful of peaceful minutes. Four-hundred and ninety-seven seconds later, Jim speaks up.

"A troupe of the crew is performing a rendition of _Othello_ next week." The Captain says, quietly enough for Spock to lean closer, "It's not quite _Hamlet_ , but I expect the show to be entertaining nonetheless. Would you—if you're available, that is—would you be opposed to accompanying me? You don't _have_ to, of course. I mean, don't feel _obligated_ -"

"A military general's descent into madness following the betrayal of his first in command?" Spock quirks his eyebrow, offering no direct answer.

"I'm aware of the irony," Jim laughs, and it twinkles like wind-riders in the Vulcan high deserts, "I should expect to see you there?" 

"Affirmative, Captain." Spock says, "And checkmate."

Spock leaves _Through the Looking Glass_ on foot of the Captain's bed during the next Gamma shift. 

The _Othello_ performance the following week is entertaining, Ensign Bolick captures the episodic cycle of Othello's madness quite well, and Lieutenant Arellano plays a charming Iago, and Jim's warm breath fans over the curve of Spock's cheek when the Captain leans in to whisper commentary into Spock's ear. They are seated in the back left corner, away from the crowd of personnel in the front. Jim is a solid line of warmth pressed against Spock's side throughout the show, tactile yet careful to keep physical distance. The inches between them are charged with heat and electricity and easy camaraderie. It is a thoroughly enjoyable event, altogether. 

Spock leaves the auditorium with only a light blush, and silently matches the Captain's stride with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, listening and watching as Jim gesticulates aggressively. " _Shakespeare_!" Jim seems fond of repeating, " _Quite the playwright! I particularly liked Desdemona's monologue..._ " as the two of them make there way through the crowd of mingling cast and audience. The Captain trails off when they reach the turbolift, and the remaining stroll is spent in companionable silence. 

"Oh! Before I forget—" Jim rushes a few steps ahead of Spock to type the code into his quarter-door panel, disappearing into the darkness of the Captain's quarters before returning with two rectangular objects clutched in his hands. "Here-" The Captain hands Spock his own well-loved copy of _Through the Looking Glass,_ "thank you again, it _was_ a _great book._ " Jim thrusts Spock the second book, holding it out with both of his hands. Spock turns it over in his grip, and the title _Wordsworth, Donne, & Carroll: Poets of Great Britain_ is emblazoned in silver across the soft cover. 

"My mom liked Wordsworth. Her favorite of his is 'The World is Too Much With Us'. I— _personally_ —like 'A Night-Piece'. Reminds me of the _Enterprise_ , in a way." Jim explains, his voice light when he speaks of the beloved starship. " _'There, in a black-blue vault she sails along, Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss Drive as she drives'_."

Spock carefully holds the books close to his chest. 

To Vulcans, friendship is like most other aspects of the Vulcan culture: _logical_. The relationship Spock has with Jim is strong by Human standards; intimate to a Vulcan. Outside the Captain's quarters, at 2038, blanketed by the hum of the Enterprise and the soft focus of the dimmed artificial night-light and the warmth of Jim's companionship, Spock allows a rush of fondness to overcome him. To Spock, Jim is precious, his affection something to be coveted. Spock's heart beats hard in his side.

"Thank you, Jim." Spock says.

The lights are on 35% in the First Officer's quarters, enough for Spock's desert-dweller eyes to adjust enough to read the poetry collection from Jim.

Page thirty three is dog-eared. It's John Donne's 'No Man an Island', and light pencil scratches denote Jim's annotations. Most of his the marking is underlining key phrases or specifically worded passages. Sometimes they're accompanied by a one word thought or simple sentence. Rarely—but greatly appreciated—Jim must draw arrows from where his own thoughts are written in paragraph between the margins. On page thirty three, two subsequent lines are circled.

" _Every man's death diminishes me, Because I am involved with mankind._ "

_Fascinating indeed_ , Spock thinks. 

4\. Ashau (v.)

_To have a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of love and solicitude towards someone._

The Altarian coronation proceeds in a timely fashion, despite the _Enterprise's_ deviation to Vulcan. Admiral Komack smiles a toothy and crinkled grin, diplomacy wafting off of him in waves so thick Spock can nearly smell it as the Admiral shakes hands and bows to the Altarian delegation. The Altarians dress in draping, silk robes of rich lilac and shimmering blue fabric. Their fashion values contrast, and they often dress in pale, creamy colors to accentuate their dark skin and hair. It is a bright image, and Spock can appreciate their devotion to their aesthetic in a detached way. 

Spock shadows Jim through his salute and introduction as Captain of the _Enterprise_. He smiles genially, apologizes for the delay, and offers them comforts and congratulations on behalf of the Federation.

He does not look at Spock, who feels nauseous. 

The actual ceremony in which the Altarian Queen accepts her throne and crown is relatively short. It is conducted in complete silence, and the Altarian woman is dressed plainly and walks barefoot before the capital city temple. She bathes her feel ritually before the statue of the Altarian Creation Goddess, humbling herself in a deep bow to accept her diadem of white gold. It is rather visually striking and geometric in design, softened in contrast by the leaves and flowers woven into the ensemble. The coronation is simple, and without decor. Were it not for the growing abscess in the pit of Spock's stomach, he believes he would enjoy the event. 

It is just now, at the celebration feast following the Altarian coronation, that Spock finds himself standing off at the perimeter of the banquet hall, joined in quiet company by Doctor McCoy. Spock is preoccupied with his gaze on the Captain, who weaves through groups of personnel and aliens alike, mingling and laughing in general jollity. His head pounds. His emotional control wavers dangerously when he sees a young Alterian couple reach for the Captain, laying delicate manicured hands on the joint of his forearm and elbow. The Captain demurs, covering their hands with one of his. Spock clenches his jaw.

There is a moment where Spock's feet carry him towards his _t'hy'la_ , and he comes behind the Captain's right shoulder just in time to be in earshot of the Altarian couple laughing together and replying " _Oh, surely Captain Kirk you might find a moment to visit us after tonight's festivities...?_ " 

An ugly feeling rears its head in Spock's mind, and the rotting mental bond thrashes violently, nearly blinding Spock with dark spots in the outside of his vision, but leaving him clear enough to see the exact moment that Jim's knees buckle and his body goes slack as he collapses. 

"Spock to  _Enterprise_. Come in,  _Enterprise_."

Spock falls to a crouch immediately, grabbing a tight hold of Jim's shoulders. The Captain thrashes dangerously in Spock's arms, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his mouth lax in a silent scream. He seems mostly unconscious, but his body moves out of instinct, writhing in pain and shaken with shock-waves of tremor. His face is contorted into a permanent expression of terror and despair. His skin is slick with sweat and is flushed dangerously red, his cheekbones the color of rose blossoms. Spock recoils when Jim manages to strike him in the jaw, but—moving like quicksilver—maneuvers his  _t'hy'la_  to lay flat on the soft, grassy earth of the Alterian grasslands. He pushes down on Jim's torso with his knees to keep him from jerking away and shifts his grip from the Captain's biceps to his wrists. Spock sucks in an involuntary gasp when the bare skin of his mate's wrist presses into the strong palm of his hand. 

The Captain is too far gone to articulate thought, but alien  _feeling_  cascades into Spock's brain.  _Anguish_  pours off of Jim in a fluctuating spike of rhythm. Spock's mind rears back and twists away from the  _longing, heat,_  and  _hurt_  that torments Jim, but Spock's fingers tighten around the other man's arms. Their  _t'hy'la_  bond trembles with infection. It has lost its golden sheen and radiates a horrible sickly green aura, pulsating in time with Jim's seizures. Pain prickles like hot needles along Spock's spine, and Spock's telepathic field is thrown wide open into a glacial plain, like the mountains of the Vulcan sister planet. The frigid cold of the  _T'Khut_ desert fissures through Spock's mind and the bond fractures, beating madly against the barrier erected between  _telsu_. Spock cries out at the onslaught of stimulus, his head feeling as though it has been split open at the seams of the crown. 

_This is my fault-my fault-my fault_ , Spock thinks,  _the_ tel.  _The bond_. 

"Aye, sir." Commander Scott's voice crackles electrically through the communicator. Spock clutches his  _t'hy'la_  closer in relief, uncaring of the more intense wave of pain that swells in him. Reaching blindly for the device, Spock grits his teeth and speaks loud enough to be heard over the frantic whispering of the Altarian delegation. 

"Lock onto this signal," Spock urges, "notify Sick Bay that the Captain is in need of attention, then beam the Captain and me there immediately. Medical emergency. Beam us up, Mr. Scott.  _Now_!"

_I regret-regret-I regret_. The emotion echoes through Spock's mind, despite that Jim is not lucid to hear it. _I have hurt you, t'hy'la._

Spock closes his eyes and holds tight to his mate as their atoms are deconstructed and reassembled by the transporter. Immediately upon materializing, Spock hears the alarmed cry of Dr. McCoy and feels himself being hauled to his feet roughly. For a moment Spock resists without thinking, unwilling to let go of Jim, but logic returns when Spock opens his eyes to see the Captain being hoisted into the bio-bed by a pair of a Nurse and an Ensign. McCoy curses when the Captain seizes again—Jim's limbs twist uncomfortably as his body folds over against the tension—and rushes over to the medical station to recall Jim's medical file from the ship computer. 

"Ensign S'takei, restrain the Captain." McCoy barks, his eyes not leaving the screen of his terminal, "Nurse Louise, I need a broad-spectrum AED,  _right now_."

The nurse nods. "Ezogabine, sir?" She asks, loading a hypospray with both hands. McCoy scans the computer with a terse look on his face, then swears explicitly. 

" _No_ , it'll leave the fool blind.  _Damn allergies_." McCoy mutters, "Make it 25CC of Clorazepate, and  _hurry_  before he manages to give S'takei a black eye!"

Spock strides over to the Sick Bay communications panel, his eyes never leaving the Captain, whose wrists and ankles have been strapped to the gurney with thick nylon restraints. Spock calls bridge control and within seconds Commander Scott answers, his face appearing on the viewscreen looking harried. 

"Mr. Scott, plot an intercept course with the Federation ship  _Intrepid_." Spock orders, "Warp 6."

Commander Scott acknowledges and salutes, breaking the communication line. Immediately, Spock's mind is crippled by an intense wave of arctic coldness from the darkening bond. His head throbs mercilessly, and Spock cannot ignore the obvious.  _Tu-Surak_  values logic, but rationality cannot be attained without considering alternatives. Emotion is the antithesis of logic, but not the enemy. Vulcans insist that logic is a guide in emotion's wake, much like a star guides a captain on the sea. Vulcan emotion is strong,  _overpowering_. Logic has abandoned Spock. Spock must be  _pthak-fam_. He must have courage.  

"Heat stroke, acute nervous system failure, tonic-clonic  _seizures_?!" Dr. McCoy mutters to himself as he runs a medical tricorder down the length of the Captain's body. His convulsions have lessened, but he continues to jerk and twitch periodically. "Can't even  _sedate_  him without risk of coma..."

"Doctor," Spock says softly, coming to stand at the head of Jim's bed, opposite to McCoy, "I must meld with the Captain."

Even as he speaks, Spock's mental capabilities wane. The bond absorbs the heat from Spock's body as it fights to stay alive. It leaves Spock empty, cold,  _pained_. He feels sluggish and sick, but continues on. The bond will kill them both. Spock must at least  _attempt_  to stabilize it. Spock flinches when stinging ice punctures his mind, the  _t'hy'la_  connection striking his neural pathways unrelentingly. It urges like a physical push for Spock to join with Jim. 

"A Vulcan  _mind_ -meld?" McCoy opens his mouth to retort but cuts himself off when Jim struggles against the restraint, crying out weakly. When the doctor looks at Spock, there's something unreadable in his eyes. " _Fuck_ , Spock." He says, "just  _do it_." 

Spock's gaze slides down to the face of his  _t'hy'la_ , which is blotchy and flushed unhealthily. Slowly, Spock takes the seat adjacent to the bio-bed and brings his hands to rest on the fabric covering Jim's upper arm. When they touch, the bond stirs. It contorts around the mental wall of Jim's telepathic shielding, and Spock's eyes slip closed. In the landscape of his mind, Spock crosses the snow-covered dunes that were once familiar to him. His mother's eucalyptus tree is coated in a thin layer of frost, his father's  _th'laax_  in similar condition. Approaching the concrete wall in his mind, Spock observes the bond that hangs limply in the air above his head. Like a floating trickle of a stream, it splits to accompany the barrier in the middle of its flow, but the strength behind it is weak. The rivulets of murky green originate from whatever point the bond touches the shield. In his mind, Spock presses the flat of both palms against the wall, and resists the urge to repulse. It is hot to the touch, and crumbling, burning Spock's hands. 

In his body, Spock brings his hands to frame his t'hy'la's wonderful face, finding his meld points like a practiced caress. He feels the plains and lines of Jim's cheeks, brow, jaw, how they hold such tension and suffering. He feels Jim's emotions, the fear, the heat, the loneliness. 

"Let me in, Jim." Spock murmurs aloud. A gentle push against the mental wall budges slightly. " _Kal-tor nash-veh fai-tor tu, ashayam._ "  _Let me know you, my beloved_.

Slowly, in a way that reminds Spock of a flower blossom, the barrier between them gives way and Jim's mind is thrown wide open. The precipice hovers for just a moment—a split second—where the newness and nakedness of the open air between them pauses, like a droplet of water on the lip of a glass. Like an  _inhale_. 

"My mind to your mind," Spock whispers against his mate's temple. "Your thoughts to my thoughts." 

Spock falls into Jim's mind and is immediately smothered by the oppressive heat. It is like the height of dry season in the peaks of the _L-langon_ , the mountain range that borders the  _Sas-a-Shar_  desert—the Vulcan Forge—of his homeland. Jim's mental plain is in complete disarray, and the half t'hy'la bond that stretches across the field before them glows an angry blood-red, simmering like embers. Spock finds himself standing in a field of maize, but the plants have all been singed by the enormous pressure of the sun above, which takes up almost a quarter of the sky. The prairie sky above is a stark and clear blue, like sunshine at the bottom of a swimming pool. The dead corn crunches underfoot as Spock takes off in the direction that the bond above stretches. Human minds lack the order and elements of reality that a structured, practiced, and meditated Vulcan mind contains. In the dream-world of Jim's subconscious, Spock finds himself in awe of the dynamic nature of the Captain's mind. Following the bond soon reconstructs Jim's mental plain into the floor of a great forest, full of towering Terran sycamores and redwoods. Holes in the canopy reveal a darkening sky, smoke and ash threatening to choke out the sun and trap the understory in an insulated rocket-oven. The wind carries whispers of Jim's thoughts, half-remembered memories swirling around the fabric of Spock's cloak and kicking up burnt pine needles on the carpet of detritus where Spock stands. Spock estimates that he is in the outer reaches of Jim's mind, and it is likely that his  _t'hy'la_  has yet to realize his presence. 

The heat grows to a critical point, blazing and flaming destruction through Jim's feeble brain.

Concentrating, Spock summons his psychic presence and dives  _deeper_  into Jim's mind, following the damaged pathway of fire left by the bond. The air grows hotter still, heat waves vibrating like sunlight off concrete. Spock gathers himself to call out to Jim's consciousness, but there's something jerking him off path and he's—

On his back, the Vulcan sand cuts hot and sharp like a bed of coals but he can barely feel it because he can't  _breathe_  and Spock's on top of him pinning him against the silt but when he looks into Spock's eyes _it's like looking into the gaze of a beast_  he doesn't even recognize the man before and above him— _the man who will likely kill him_ —and the air is so hot he feels like he's about to choke on it and die—he can't  _breathe_ —he knows Spock doesn't recognize him either he's gone completely primal and the fever of the  _plak tow consumes both of them in a glorious flame of candlelight_  but he can't bring himself to fight harder to harm or  _to kill_  —God, he's so hot he's  _melting_ —he  _can't_  hate Spock how can he be expected to retaliate against the man that he lo—

_Jim!_ Spock calls out to the other man's thoughts.  _Jim!_

... _Spock?_

The answering whimper is met by an uncontrollable wave of relief from Spock's side of the meld and Spock feels how Jim's fever-stricken mind trembles from it. When their individual mental manifestations meet, Spock can see that the bond has wrapped itself around Jim's brain is is constricting it, squeezing so hard that it leaves imprints of heat all around the Captain's body. Jim has been boiling from the inside, and regret tastes like ash in Spock's mouth. His sadness must broadcast loud enough, because Jim's concern is unconcentrated but palpable. 

_What is it, Spock?_  Jim asks,  _what's wrong?_

_Do not worry,_ ang'jimzn _-captain._ Spock replies in a strange mix of Standard and his native tongue.  _The_ falek _-heat will soon be gone._

Spock closes his eyes and focuses on the fragments of the bond in his mind calling them forth to meet at the edges of his  _telsu's_  mind. His side of the bond acts out of instinct, tugging forward to join with Jim and equalize their disconnection. Spock pours his unchecked emotion into the soulbond, letting it flood like an ocean and flow into the river of light, mesmerized watching the bond knit itself back together and shine gold once again. Loyalty, affection, trust in the Captain, devotion to his friend, fondness for his  _t'hy'la_ , all of his positive feelings associated with Jim he lets go of, letting the bond assimilate them into its core, letting his love for Jim solidify into an offer of bonding. 

Jim hesitates, and the pit falls out of Spock's stomach. An edifice of despair slips into the bond-river before Spock can stop it, before he can regain control. 

_Let me know you,_  t'hy'la, Spock repeats the mantra to Jim mentally.  _Let our minds become one_. 

Jim releases his grip on the soulbond and it snaps forward violently, immediately lurching to collide with Spock's healing half. When they meet, the remaining grey-green that hangs off Spock's mind like moss-rot is wiped clean, and the bond swells into a lake of golden sunlight. Blessed warmth caresses at the fringes of Spock's consciousness, and both him and Jim watch in wonder as the murderous red color that had infected Jim's half of the  _t'hy'la_  bond transforms into a deep cerulean blue, glowing softly in a luminescent sheen.  _It's so...chilly_. The thought escapes from Jim's mind unbidden, and Spock looks to his Captain in amusement.  _It's nice_ , Jim projects, more intentional this time. The completed bond stretches before them in both directions, across the dunes of Spock's mindscape, entwining in the branches of his parents' tree grove, floating over sprouting cornfields— _Iowa, my home,_  Jim says—dancing through the trunks of arboreal giants in the forests of California where Jim and Spock had both enlisted in Starfleet. It is a beautiful sight to be hold, a merging of golden light and blue glow that braids and shifts and glides seamlessly together in a stream that floats several meters high. Pain becomes pleasure, despair becomes joy, discomfort becomes contentedness. 

_What..._ is _it, Spock?_  Jim's quiet curiosity is more directional, and Spock communicates a small amount of surprise and pride that his Captain has been able to gain limited control over his psychic presence. 

_It is us_ ,  _Jim_ , Spock replies, withdrawing from the meld gently. They are bathed in an ocean of starlight, in the beyond.  _Aware_. Spock will cherish the feeling, forever if he must.

_It is us_. 

When Spock disconnects from the mind-meld, Jim's face is relaxed and peaceful, as though he is sleeping dreamlessly. The bond hums at the background of Spock's mind, but it is content from fulfillment and causes Spock no pain whatsoever. Sick Bay is quiet, save for the whines and beeps of electronic medical equipment. Spock exhales.

" _Well_ , Spock?" Spock looks up into the blue eyes of Dr. McCoy. A muscle in the doctor's jaw twitches. 

"The Captain will recover," Spock says tiredly, and McCoy beams. 

Spock sleeps. 

* * *

Spock startles awake 53.9 minutes later, his head snapping up from where it was pillowed in his forearms. Worry tastes acidic in the back of his throat, but when Spock turns his head Jim is  _there_ , mouth open and snoring gently. 

As if he senses Spock's wakefulness—which in all reality, he likely  _does_  with the help of their bond—Jim stirs and his eyes flutter open, unfocused. For a second his gaze settles on Spock and he smiles sleepily, but then, a furrow between his brow, and his eyes widen in panic and Jim jolts up into a sitting position. Alarm radiates off of him, he brings his hands up to grip his head, running his fingers through his hazelnut hair. There is pressure in Spock's mind when Jim attempts to close off his shields once again, but this time the strength of the new  _t'hy'la_  bond repels his boundaries. 

"It is unwise to close off your mind," Spock says quietly, settling back in the seat adjacent to Jim's cot, "the bond is  _plathau_."  _Perfected_.

Alarm is joined by shock, and sorrow pours off of Jim in waves, powerful enough to cause Spock's emotive frown. Jim turns away from Spock with his upper body, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head back and forth.

"No, no,  _no_ ," He cries mournfully, and when he looks up at Spock, tears shine in his bright eyes, "I-I didn't want this to-to happen."

The words feel like a kick to the chest, and Spock clenches his jaw, his throat working as he struggles against the despair that courses through him, compounded by his mate's distress. His body, his instinct, his  _pach-te_ , is agitated by the feeling streaming into Spock from their bond, and it demands that he  _protect_  his  _t'hy'la_ , deliver him from his pain and sadness. How can he, when Spock himself has caused such anguish within his mate? The events solidify the insecurity already growing within Spock: he is unworthy of Jim. Undesirable to him, to whom Spock is so utterly devoted. Rejection curls at the edges of his heart and singes his mind. He stands abruptly; logically he must remove himself from the equation, with the hope that it may provide Jim with some relief.

Jim turns away again as  _bezhun-masu_  stream down his cheeks, which are blotchy and pink and  _so_  tempting to Spock, who desires nothing but to comfort his bondmate in some way. 

"I understand," Spock murmurs. He spares Jim a long look, the ocean inside of him welling and tormented. Helplessness is an emotion he is familiar with, but it is somehow harder to mitigate when he stares at Jim. His Captain's shoulders shake with barely perceptible tremors, and his hands—his strong, lovely hands—twist the fabric of the Sick Bay bio-bed into meaningless shapes. Even in his sadness, Spock cannot help but find his mate to be...beautiful.  _Illogical_ , Spock thinks uselessly.

"I'm  _so_  sorry," Jim says, as Spock turns away from his  _t'hy'la_ , "you must be... _disgusted_."

The last word escapes Jim in a hush, and gives Spock pause. It is  _there_  again—the  _wrongness_  in his gut—the inexplicable feeling that he has drawn a conclusion that is missing important variables. Spock cannot claim to understand the intricacies of the Human mind, which flourishes in illogic and disorder, but the notion persists. Jim has done nothing to warrant a disdainful reaction from Spock, so it is illogical to believe in absent emotions.

"Apologies are unnecessary, Jim." Spock returns softly, "It is... _I_  who should beg your forgiveness."

Jim huffs humorlessly. Spock raises an eyebrow out of habit.

" _Sure_ ," He says morosely, "it's not your fault, Spock. It's not like you can  _control_  how I—how I feel." 

"How you feel?" Spock seats himself primly in the chair once again, "Please clarify."

Jim looks at him sharply, his eyes narrowing to slits. Over the bond, Spock can feel his Captain's wariness, his defeat. 

"You can sense it, can't you? Through the bond?" Jim wrings his hands together and drops his chin, speaking into his lap. "I saw it myself. It was... _hurting_  you."

Shame, ugly and thick, broadcasts from Jim's mind. Spock is surprised at the force and intensity of the emotion. Although the fulfilled bond opens pathways between them that cannot stop Jim from sharing his feelings without mental discipline, the ruthless and crude shielding of the partial bond had not allowed any resemblance of thought or emotion to be transferred to Spock. In retrospect, the feat was quite impressive, actually.

"I couldn't." Spock states, "You had blocked off your mind to me. To the bond." Jim grows quiet, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. At a loss, Spock continues. "Jim, the  _Enterprise_  is on an intercept course with the  _Intrepid_. If—if you wish—" Spock fumbles, "the bond can still be severed. It will be painful." He adds uselessly. 

Something he said must have triggered a response in Jim, because Spock can feel his confusion when he stares incredulously at Spock.

"' _If I wish_ '?" Jim parrots, his mouth twisting unpleasantly at the words, "And you? What do  _you_  wish?"

The demand blindsides Spock. The bond glows brightly in their minds, deception is impossible. Logically, he cannot lie to Jim about his desires, but Spock is equally unwilling to share them. To be so directly spurned by his mate might crush Spock's fragile telepathic shields, leaving Jim defenseless against the intensity of Spock's feelings for his Captain. It is a fate that shall not befell his mate, but similarly, Spock cannot resist such a simple and direct request.

"It is illogical," Spock decides upon, "to entertain fantasies."

"' _Fantasies_ '..." Jim mouths to himself under his breath, but then his head jerks to look at Spock. His Captain's eyes are rimmed with red, his eyelashes dark and wet, his cheeks rosy and dappled. He meets Spock's gaze intensely, persistent. "Spock, do you—" He cuts off in frustration, "do you have  _feelings_  for me?  _Good_  feelings?"

Spock lowers his eyes and does not reply, but his silence is answer enough. He braces himself, his shields, and his mind.

The tide of their bond recedes, leaving Spock cold and empty once again. It feels as though Jim has sucked in a breath, and there is a moment when Spock hovers on the edge of losing complete control, feeling tears spring to his eyes, frustration clawing at his throat but then—

Like a tsunami, an all-consuming wave of  _joy happy love_  crashes over Spock's mind, and were he standing he would have staggered physically, the emotions are so  _intense_  from where they radiate off of Jim. "You  _do_..." Jim murmurs in wonder, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and revealing a charming set of dimples. The connection between them is thrown open, flooded with the multitude of Jim's feelings. Spock is bizarrely reminded of the crystal waters of the _Shi'Kahr_  spring-pools, and that of the Californian coastline. Submerged in the temperate light of Jim's happiness, Spock stifles his gasp of awe. The sheer  _affection_  Jim holds for Spock...his own mind reacts instinctively, sharing over the bond Spock's unrestrained elation at the realization of their  _telan_ bonding _,_  his devotion to his mate, his unrelenting desire to give his  _t'hy'la_  any and all that he wishes.

" _T'hy'la_ ," Spock whispers, his voice thick with reverence.

 Jim's eyes are filled to the brim with tears again, but Spock knows it is not of sadness. Jim sniffles, then laughs, the sound bubbling out of him. His laughter rings like a bell in Spock's ears, sparking another alluvion of euphoria to cascade into the precipice of Jim's mind. The bond twines in the space between their  _katras_.

"That word..." Jim says, "it seems so familiar to me, and yet...I can't recall its meaning."

"It has no Standard definition," Spock leans close to Jim, who mirrors his position as well as he can on the bio-bed, the shape of his body curling around Spock's torso in an S-shape, "the closest equivalent would be... _soulmate_. We bonded simultaneously, Jim. We are  _k'hat'n'dwala_."

"' _Half of each other's heart and soul._ '" Jim translates under his breath, then adds unnecessarily, "I'm not sure how I know that."

"Jim, the bond links us telepathically." Spock hesitates, then continues carefully, "Vulcans value individual rights to mental privacy, but Humans are a psi-null species. Therefore, you may experience emotional transference between us, and more heavily I will be able to ascertain your thoughts without training or discipline. I must make you aware that it is never my intention to violate your personal—"

"Spock, it's  _okay_." Jim nods to himself, "I trust you not to take advantage. I  _know_  you."

The echo of his plea to Jim is not lost on Spock. Jim must know this too, because he smiles with his teeth, his eyelids falling halfway as he stares at Spock demurely. His casual attractiveness causes a strange fluttering sensation in Spock's stomach. 

"Humans call those  _butterflies_ ," Jim says quietly, the grin never leaving his bewitching face, " _God_ , I want to kiss you."

As soon as the words leave his tongue, Jim flushes a pretty and delicate pink. The bond quivers with his simultaneous delight and embarrassment, and Spock can hear the fuzzy aftershock of his thoughts. Spock's immediate reaction is unadulterated felicity, and for once he does not let the illogic of the situation dampen the accompanying emotion. Spock wants to  _feel_  for his  _t'hy'la_. He lets out a curl of amusement into the bond, and then like the fronds of a leaf, adoration and desire blooms from the seeds planted deep within Spock's heart. His pulse quickens slightly, heat blushing the tips of his ears.

"I would be...amenable." Spock murmurs, leaning in towards his mate just as Jim holds up two fingers enthusiastically.

They both freeze. Jim laughs softly, looking down at his lap. 

Softening, Spock raises his hand in the  _ozhesta_ , which Jim immediately mirrors. Their fingers meet delicately, pressing together in sensual joining. Jim gasps softly, feeling the connection between them swell in affection and passion. "You honor my culture," Spock murmurs, gently stroking his first two fingers against his mate's, from the top of his palm to fingertip, "allow me to reciprocate."

And with that, he leans forward over the edge of the bio-bed, meeting his  _t'hy'la_  halfway in a searing kiss. 

* * *

 (That night, Spock finds himself curled protectively around his Captain, their bare chests pressed tightly together in a horizontal embrace. Jim settles against him, face pressed into the smattering of coarse hair that covers his sternum. Spock allows a blanket of tenderness to encapsulate their bond, and feels it in his bones when his  _t'hy'la_  smiles against his skin. 

" _Taluk nash-veh k'dular, Hayal Masutra_." Spock whispers into his mate's hair, drawing them impossibly closer with an arm across Jim's shoulders. _I cherish thee_. 

"'My ocean', huh?" Jim's grins and raises his head to look at Spock, "I guess that makes you my  _sunshine_." 

They kiss, Spock's eyes falling closed as he revels in the wonderful feeling of his mate's body weight tethering him to their bed. Jim's lips part and the kiss deepens, arousal curling deep in Spock's abdomen and amplified across the echoes of their bond. It is a silly claiming display, but Spock's lungs rumble with contentedness regardless. He feels rather childish, reveling in emotional responses, but finds that he is not bothered by the notion as usual. 

"Are you... _purring_?" Spock follows his Captain when Jim pulls away from their kiss, and Jim smiles with his teeth. "I love you, too.")

**Author's Note:**

> :3c


End file.
